panties which were modeled after vintage lingerie cuts—high in the waist and nearly straight across the top of the thigh. These were made of thick brown spandex with panels of faux leather to give it a steampunk look, and there were decorative bits of chain at one hip. The embellishments matched the clasp closures down the front of the corset. She finished the look with sheer white thigh-highs and gold pumps with lacings up the heel that mimicked rope bondage.
Examining herself in the mirror, Mae decided that she did like the outfit. When she got home on Monday she’d make the call on the new line. Though it was different from her original brand—a brand Mae was mother-bear protective of—she could imagine the girl who would buy this and wear it, which was what mattered.
Wishing that she had time to dry and curl her hair, which would help soften the look, Mae instead applied her makeup, and then, with twenty minutes to spare, left the Subs’ Garden.
This time no one looked twice at her. With the most obvious of her marks covered, Mae no longer wore the evidence of her submission for all to see. She regretted that—not that she was going to go back and strip—but she’d liked showing off Master Xavier’s domination of her.
At this hour of night the club was alive with activity. Subtle lighting made it easy to see where she was going in the myriad of indoor-outdoor spaces, but didn’t detract from the darkness of the night. Voices spilled from the library and dining room, but Mae wasn’t tempted to stop. Quick steps carried her toward Master Xavier.
When she rounded the corner and saw the Iron Court, her feet slowed. The statuary garden was lit not only with strategic landscape lighting, but by dozens of torches, clustered around a small stage that had been erected in the center. A few Doms were milling around, and when she appeared, their attention snapped to her. Mae snuck a quick glance at the stage, which was three feet off the ground and roughly five feet by five feet, then knocked on the door of the room where she’d first met Xavier.
“Come in.”
A sense of deja vu washed over Mae as she opened the door. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago that she’d stood here, with no idea who, or what, waited for her on the other side?
Master Xavier wore a gray dress shirt instead of the tight, sleeveless black top he’d had on earlier. It was open mid-way down the chest, exposing golden. The sight of him made her fingertips tingle.
He was standing beside the armchair he’d used the first night. A plain wooden chair held the place of honor in the center of the room.
“Master Xavier.” Mae closed the door behind her.
He crooked his finger.
Mae’s whole body responded to the casual command—her nipples hardened under the lace, wetness flooded her pussy, and her mouth went dry.
She stopped a few feet in front of him, skin tingling in anticipation of his touch. He looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth kicking up in just the hint of a smile. Reaching out, he tugged her braid, then ran his hands down to her breasts—pinching her nipples and rubbing the lace against the sensitive buds. Mae arched her back, offering him more, offering him everything.
Xavier released her and pointed to the plain chair.
Mae took a seat, knees together, hands braced on either side of her thighs.
Xavier circled her, occasionally dipping one hand into her top to fondle her breasts. When she leaned forward slightly, brushing her cheek against his arm as he passed, Xavier thumbed her lower lip, then stroked her neck. The quiet room made it easy to forget everything but these strange wonderful feelings he elicited in her. He tugged her shirt down enough to expose her right nipple, flicking it with his thumb until she arched her back and gasped.
Mae was perilously close to coming, aroused to the point of orgasm by nothing more than his presence and a few touches. He stopped, which was both a relief and a
Examining herself in the mirror, Mae decided that she did like the outfit. When she got home on Monday she’d make the call on the new line. Though it was different from her original brand—a brand Mae was mother-bear protective of—she could imagine the girl who would buy this and wear it, which was what mattered.
Wishing that she had time to dry and curl her hair, which would help soften the look, Mae instead applied her makeup, and then, with twenty minutes to spare, left the Subs’ Garden.
This time no one looked twice at her. With the most obvious of her marks covered, Mae no longer wore the evidence of her submission for all to see. She regretted that—not that she was going to go back and strip—but she’d liked showing off Master Xavier’s domination of her.
At this hour of night the club was alive with activity. Subtle lighting made it easy to see where she was going in the myriad of indoor-outdoor spaces, but didn’t detract from the darkness of the night. Voices spilled from the library and dining room, but Mae wasn’t tempted to stop. Quick steps carried her toward Master Xavier.
When she rounded the corner and saw the Iron Court, her feet slowed. The statuary garden was lit not only with strategic landscape lighting, but by dozens of torches, clustered around a small stage that had been erected in the center. A few Doms were milling around, and when she appeared, their attention snapped to her. Mae snuck a quick glance at the stage, which was three feet off the ground and roughly five feet by five feet, then knocked on the door of the room where she’d first met Xavier.
“Come in.”
A sense of deja vu washed over Mae as she opened the door. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago that she’d stood here, with no idea who, or what, waited for her on the other side?
Master Xavier wore a gray dress shirt instead of the tight, sleeveless black top he’d had on earlier. It was open mid-way down the chest, exposing golden. The sight of him made her fingertips tingle.
He was standing beside the armchair he’d used the first night. A plain wooden chair held the place of honor in the center of the room.
“Master Xavier.” Mae closed the door behind her.
He crooked his finger.
Mae’s whole body responded to the casual command—her nipples hardened under the lace, wetness flooded her pussy, and her mouth went dry.
She stopped a few feet in front of him, skin tingling in anticipation of his touch. He looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth kicking up in just the hint of a smile. Reaching out, he tugged her braid, then ran his hands down to her breasts—pinching her nipples and rubbing the lace against the sensitive buds. Mae arched her back, offering him more, offering him everything.
Xavier released her and pointed to the plain chair.
Mae took a seat, knees together, hands braced on either side of her thighs.
Xavier circled her, occasionally dipping one hand into her top to fondle her breasts. When she leaned forward slightly, brushing her cheek against his arm as he passed, Xavier thumbed her lower lip, then stroked her neck. The quiet room made it easy to forget everything but these strange wonderful feelings he elicited in her. He tugged her shirt down enough to expose her right nipple, flicking it with his thumb until she arched her back and gasped.
Mae was perilously close to coming, aroused to the point of orgasm by nothing more than his presence and a few touches. He stopped, which was both a relief and a
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